


Miracles Out Of Nowhere

by KittyAug, KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Of Hunters and Hellblazers [22]
Category: Constantine (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Constandean, Constandestiel, M/M, Other, Shower Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAug, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Constantine who starts it. Because of course it would be, wouldn’t it. He gets them both alone, somewhere, somehow, doesn’t matter. He looks at Dean, smirks then sidles right up next to Cas, all hot smoke and feral grace, grabs the angel by his tie and pulls him into a kiss - no warning just goes for it, like it isn’t frigging sacrilege... Dean wonders if some nights even angels want to get burned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miracles Out Of Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> _Miracles Out Of Nowhere_ is a Kansas song.

Dean shouldn’t be doing this. He knows how wrong it is. This has _got_ to be a direct violation of the bro-code. He just can't fight it anymore- it was building up too long. Strung out just a little too far... It’s not even all his fault, this time. It is all because of goddamn John Constantine, like so many sexual crisis in Dean’s life, come to think of it. With his stupid smirk, and stupid fucking accent, and his smug comments about trenchcoats. ‘Innt’ isn’t even a word. And on top of everything else it’s... it’s all just a little too much. A little too far. A little too hot.

Dean’s skin feels all heated and too tight. He’s aware of his pulse - going a little too hard. And he’s been on the edge of something sweet all freaking day.

Being on edge isn't new - he’s been on the edge of something for months, never quite got back from the demonic black, if he’s feeling honest. But today, it’s the edge of something good, something too warm and a little holy instead of something bloody - and that’s a sweet relief in itself. Maybe that’s the real problem. Maybe that’s what pushes him to give in to this burning urge in the curves of his flesh.

The fact it is there again at all is a miracle - too good to pass up. The fact that he _wants_ something, this tangle of wont and longing and something… else. The fact that his skin actually sung back to him when he let his hands slide down his body under the shower. The fact that the soap slick sensation felt good like it should. Hot water on soft skin. So maybe that’s why he gave in - just this once. Because he hasn’t even wanted to give in to anything that wasn’t homicidal for so damn long...

It’s Constantine who starts it. Because of course it would be, wouldn’t it. He gets them both alone, somewhere, somehow, doesn’t matter. He looks at Dean, smirks like sin then sidles right up next to Cas, all hot smoke and feral grace, grabs the angel by his tie and pulls him into a kiss - no warning just goes for it, like it isn’t fucking sacrilege. Cas pulls back, uncertain and a little timid in the face of the full force of the Hellblazer’s attention. Dean remembers what that feels like. The hot thrill of it all over and the slightest taste of primal fear on the back of his tongue, because when Constantine wants you he’s suddenly all predator. Sometimes the scars of hellfire in Constantine’s eyes light up - when he decides he wants something, really goes after something. It’s scary as Hell because it is Hell. That had taunted Dean back when he didn’t even know what it meant - but even not knowing he’d craved it anyway. Now he has it himself. Dean wonders if Cas would see that fire too. See the now mirrored marks on both their souls. Could an angel want something broken like that, like either of them? He wonders if some nights even angels want to get burned.

Constantine pushes through Cas’ hesitation but softens his approach. Lets go of the tie and moves the hand to Cas' waist instead, under the coat. The other hand finds Cas’ cheek, Dean wonders if the stubble is still softer than it should be. Would it be smooth or pain edged against John’s thumb?

Constantine pulls Cas in slowly this time. Keeps eye contact until a moment before their lips meet. And this time Cas knows what’s coming, get’s that slightly awed look, the one that kind of hurts when he turns it on Dean but this- like this it’s okay. Constantine’s eyes fall shut when he kisses, especially when it’s slow and smooth like this one is. It takes Cas a moment to catch up on that one.

“Close your eyes, Cas,” Dean tells him. “Focus on _feeling_ it.” And he’s said those words to Cas before, not like this though. Last time, in a dingy motel in Rexford, it had been because he was embarrassed and guilty as hell - he’d said it for himself not for Cas. Told himself it was about Cas but knew it never was. This time would be different - more like it should have been.

Dean remembers the Hellblazer’s tongue on his for the first time or maybe the fiftieth - doesn’t really matter - but… no the first time was that little bit tentative a little less rough but a little more frantic. And maybe that first night has been burned and blurred in his memory twisted into something mythic and otherworldly when it was really just any old drunken hook-up - he’s not really sure at this point. Not sure it matters. The legend has overtaken him and wound its way under his skin and into the hardwire of his mind. The idea of the guy has dug a hot shuddering place in his spine. And it’s that idea he conjures now. It’s that dark, passionate thing that Cas would be feeling.

Constantine pulls away, bites gently at Cas’ lip. More gentle than Dean likes it but this is Cas and even the Hellblazer would see that he’s something special. John kisses his way across Cas’ jaw, strings it all out, distracts the angel and runs his hands across that lithe borrowed body. Cas stretches his head back, gives Constantine access to the long line of his neck, eyes still closed. Constantine keeps kissing distractions into skin and starts shoving at the shoulders of Cas’ coat, pushing it back to reveal white cotton as he works his way down. He glances up across Cas’ shoulder and catches Dean’s eye then, only after the first damn trenchcoat is making its way to the floor. Brown eyed blonde, smirking around a kiss on an angel’s throat. That’s the invitation.

Dean steps forward, brings his own body into play, pressed up against the angel’s back in one perfect line of pressure. Warm cotton and ozone, petrichor and skin, feathers and sweat. Not like last time. No desperation, no fear just genuine trepidation. There’s no hurtful and hurting humanity about this version of Cas. This is the version that Hannah… no, don’t go there. Not now. It’s about Cas, all angeled up and they’ll touch and it won’t fucking hurt. They’re always hurting each other - out there, in reality. But not here and not now.

Dean bites and kisses into the skin on one side of Castiel’s neck while John does the same on the other. Dean kisses the apology that he could never speak, even in his mind there aren’t the words. Then, Dean and Constantine move in unison, both licking a tempting stripe up Cas’ throat. Dean can almost hear the angel moan a reflection of his own, deep and thrumming in the throat, a little higher, a little needier. A little inhuman.

Dean isn’t sure how they change position and start moving. Constantine probably. Pushy son of a bitch. Now they’re both pressing the angel back into the wall, each with an arm pressed to his chest. Constantine has apparently done away with the tie and buttons but not the shirt. A smooth section of Cas’ chest exposed to their roving hands. Dean wraps his other hand around the sharp edge of Cas’ hip, pulls them closer still, lets the hand rove elsewhere too. Cas opens his eyes when Dean presses into his side. Because his words may not be honest but there’s some things a body can’t hide. Their eyes meet with that shocking frisson that Dean normally shies away from. This time it just pushes him to action, for once, at freaking _last_.

Dean surges up and kisses Castiel, lips meeting like revelation, the way he should have years ago, the way he should have the first damn time. Kisses Cas the way he should, wishes he always could. Unholy freedom and angelic passion. Just like it should be. But Dean can’t really take that for that long. It’s too much and not enough. Too far and too close to everything that can't, and is and shouldn’t be…

They part with near panted breaths, foreheads pressed close and they both look down. Constantine has sunk to hi knees. He looks up, smirks and winks at Dean before he gets his hands on Cas’ belt. And Dean doesn’t know where to focus. Cas’ face, the way his eyes go wide, because that sort of thing had got to be a shock to the system. Eyes bright and blue, lips bitten. Or does he watch the fingers digging into hip bones, feeling the pressure of skin on softer skin and fabric rough. The way the Hellblazer bites and much as kisses into the flesh of a guy’s thigh. The way Constantine’s shoulders arch and move into it. The way he almost enjoys the debasement, throws himself into it. Lips on skin. Hellfire on its knees for angelic flesh.

Dean’s breath catches as Constantine gets a hand and tongue on the angel’s cock. His lips are on Cas but his eyes are on Dean. And Dean’s skin feels overheated while his blood runs too cold. Cas whimpers, because he would. And John licks the hard line of Cas’ red, wet erection. One long sweet caress of warning and then he’s all eyes front and swallowing the guy down like there’s no fucking tomorrow. He’d be doing that _thing_ with his tongue. The twist and suck move that even Dean’s never been able to reproduce. The one that drags the pleasure out of you. And Cas is practically sobbing with the shock and hot bliss of it. Doesn’t really know how to handle it. So Dean kisses him again, because here and now he can. He throws his whole body into it. Doesn’t hold back or pretend this is anything other than what it is. Thinks about the way Cas' skin catches on his. The feeling of Cas tensing up under him, against him, hands in too soft hair and tongue to tongue like a benediction. He can hear and almost feel every shuddered breath and clenched reaction, can hear and feel the way Constantine does everything a little too much. He’ll bring the angel to the edge but not let him cross it - he likes the control. Likes to play with his food, like a cat toys with a mouse.

Clothes get abandoned quick and rough. Strewn away, normally Dean likes that to take a while, unwrapping a lover like a gift is all part of the game, but he’s getting so close now. Too close to wait. So it’s all naked bodies, hard and hot, and pressed against each other. Constantine pulls them both with him, too soft but paper rough hands on their wrists, walking backwards and dragging Dean and Cas in his wake. They’re in the shower, god only knows how they’d all fit but they do. Water and soap and skin. He’s finally got a soap slick hand on his already hard cock. And it’s that first slide of sweet friction - the first real touch and it sends a jolt of shivering pleasure through his body. Constantine grabs Dean and pulls him into a harder, darker, pain edged kind of kiss, the sort of kiss Dean can’t even imagine with Cas. The sort of kiss that’s half punishment and all Hell born fury, franticly sinful, just a little destructive. Like him. Like both of them.

Then they’re both sliding hard and soap slick against Cas. And Dean soothes him, hushes those whimpered cries of confused glory with his voice. And his kiss. Drags Cas along with him. He digs his own fingers into his thigh not quite as good as the real thing but an edge of pain pulling him into that unknowable moment. In his memory, Constantine pushes him back into the wall of a different shower stall for a second, cold tile, warm skin and hot water. The soap slide on him both darkly familiar and excitingly foreign... 

Angels run a little bit cooler than humans - all mojo’d up Cas’ would be pure contrast all cool flesh under the hot water. Skin so seldom shown now glistening wet. Soft sounds and needy motion. Rutting and uncontrolled. And Dean could make it so good - so much better than he did that first time in Rexford. So much sweeter if he could just push it far enough. Just...

It’d be Constantine who slides that rough, soaped up finger into Dean’s body. Doesn’t even make him ask or fight for it for once. Just fucking does it. It’s Dean’s turn to make a bitten off whimpering sound. Dean would find himself chest to chest with Cas. Cock to cock too, why not. pinning an angel to the shower wall. Kissing and frantic, and achingly hard. He can feel the heat start to draw into a tight ball inside him. The soles of his feet tingle in anticipation. The Hellblazer has to get a move on and fucks him, hard with nothing but soap to ease the way, burning stretch of it, painful but good. And Dean almost sobs into it. Finds that spot inside and presses firm. Dean’s hand, working back against the rhythm of it. Close… so close. “Breathe, baby, breathe.”

Constantine holds them both hard enough to bruise, one hand on Dean’s hip, the other on Cas’ waist tying them all together in this glorious knot of slightly depraved pleasure. The idea of being pushed, shoved, almost forced against Cas. Dean’s hand slides faster, works himself a little harder, a little rougher. Cas would come first, because he would and it’d be hot as hell. The idea of Cas coming apart in his arms, the idea of that being Cas’ cum on his hands, on his cock - it’s enough and too much. While he’d still be getting fucked hard and fast and pleasure sparking against Cas’ now pliant form. And Cas would kiss him, not just kiss him back but kiss him, want him. Want something Dean can give, for once.

Constantine would fuck him hard through it - because he’s good like that when he wants to be, if he’s convinced to play along. In Dean’s mind’s eye, Cas isn’t disgusted or uncomfortable, he’s intrigued, enthralled maybe. Constantine’s breath on the back of his neck is hot and smoke scented like it always is, close but not too close. Whispering something… doesn’t really matter what... something obscene, swearing in three languages, urging Dean on. Telling him what to do so he doesn’t have to decide. And Cas’ skin still pressed along the front of him. Tucked in and held close.

“Come on, Winchester,” John would say. “What are you bloody waiting for?”

And that does it. For some fucked up reason, as he comes, he imagines Cas saying, “I forgive you, Dean.” Smoke rough voice without the smoking. The first words he give the imaginary angel and it’s that. Because even Dean’s psyche is against him. Even his fantasies can’t be fucking simple. Even an imaginary version of the angel is too fucking good for him. Even Dean’s mind can’t give him even a few precious seconds to come down before it reminds him he’s never even asked for forgiveness. Never said sorry. Reminds him that this is something he shouldn’t want or think or fucking need the way he does. Reminds him he needs forgiving he’ll never get.

Dean still comes hard and quaking into it as the fantasy fades. Despite the reminder of his own weaknesses, spills into his fist and leans on his shoulder, awkwardly pressed to the the shower wall so he doesn't loose his balance. Arms empty and touching nothing softer than himself and the ceramic tile. He gasps into the shock of the orgasm anyway, the shock of himself, the shock of what he let himself want. He regains his body and his sense of shame in one rolling, near nauseated moment of flushed skin and gasped breath. He opens his eyes, and breathes.

The water down his back is warm but it isn’t flesh and body warm. He’s alone and always was. Maybe always will be where it counts. He shivers despite himself. Slips his fingers slowly out of his own body and rinses away the evidence of his internal deceit. He wonders if he can rinse away the blush. Rinse away that sick longing in his bones. Can he rinse himself clean enough to look Cas in the eye again? Fuck. He draws a deep breath, tries to drag himself back to reality. Opens his eyes to an empty shower stall and a truckload of guilt. He’s cold even as the water continues to run a little too hot. A little too real.

He turns around, back to the chill tile wall. Reaches out half blind to switch off the shower. Letting beaded water cool on his skin. It helps. Distracts him for a few minutes from all the fucked up wanting that’s still twisting inside him. Always fucking wanting something he can’t fucking have. Breathe, Winchester, just fucking breathe.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there trying not to think. Long enough that there’s a loud knock on the bathroom door. It startles him enough that he responds. “What,” he snaps out, voice rougher and lower than it should be.

“Dean?” Sam sounds grumpy. Whatever. “You okay in there?” Oh, he’s worried. Of freaking course he is. He’s always worried these days - Dean used to think that was _his_ job in this family. When did that change?

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m- almost done.”

“Okay, well hurry up man. Pizza’s here.” Sam doesn’t sound like he really believes him. He clomps off anyway. It’ll have to do.

Dean breathes. He tries not to think about the fact he’s got to face both Cas and the Hellblazer. Constantine would probably think it was funny - make some annoying joke. Dean almost laughs too - Hellblazer would probably love it actually. Cas… well probably better not to even wonder about that one. Last time Cas was disappointed in him he got a broken jaw. The Mark of Cain on his arm gives a sudden jolt, it itches and his blood burns with a different kind of fire. He lets it. It’s a distraction. Maybe that’s all his life is now - a series of more and more fucked up distractions. Maybe that’s better. Maybe it just doesn’t matter...

 

**Author's Note:**

> I has a tumblr - <http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/>
> 
> I hope this didn't hurt too much! Also, comments are love and the reason I write <3


End file.
